


The OG Vignettes

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Bleach
Genre: Dog Fighting, Gen, Guns, Mentions of Pedophilia, Street Violence, Thug!Ichigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: For all intents and purposes, Ichigo is a thug. Written in 2015.





	1. Ginjo, That Motherfucker

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic I'm moving over here from ff.net.

Ichigo is vaguely aware of Ishida's shout, and the shout being cut off. He's only vaguely aware of this because his blood's screaming as power is ripped from him yet again.

 

Ginjo pulls the sword from his chest, laughing as Ichigo slumps to one side. He turns to walk away— as if he could walk away from this.

 

Ichigo pushes himself to his feet, careless of the blood as he wipes the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth.

 

"Hey Ginjo."

 

Ginjo keeps walking.

 

Oh, fuck no.

 

"Turn around and face me, you pussy-licking, dick spittle of a coward."

 

Ginjo freezes.

 

"… You're a foul-mouthed brat," he says. "You'll die soon enough. Shall I end it quickly, or do you want to suffer?"

 

Ichigo grins. He tastes blood in his mouth, coppery sweet as his breaths come in ragged, watery gasps.

 

"As if you could even begin to know suffering, you gutless son of a cunt." He takes a step forward. "I've been in and out of juvenile detention halls and group homes since before I ever got your police have been trying six years to put my ass down, and you think a spineless worm of a man like you will be the one to take it?" he barks out a laugh. "I've fought men who would be gods— you? I'd fuck a bitch like you in prison."

 

Ichigo can see the hit before it comes, sees the tension in the bigger man's jaw and the fury that straightens his shoulders. It's easy, too easy, to sway just out of his way, easier still to land a solid slap with the back of his hand against the other man's chin, knocking him off balance and to the ground.

 

"Look at you— you just stole my powers, and I've still knocked you to the ground." Ichigo kicks away his sword. "My lungs are fucked, let me tell you— I can barely breathe. I'm still stronger than you."

 

Ginjo moves as if to catch Ichigo's ankle. Ichigo listens to the crunch of bone under his shoe and a small gasp of pain.

 

"You're a bitch, a mongrel's pup trying to prove he's worth more than kick in the ribs and a bone. You come against me? I'm the Demon of Karakura, the worst  _brat_  on the fucking block, and you want to prove something?"

 

To illustrate his point, Ichigo lands a solid kick to his ribs. The gasp, the whimper, is just what Ichigo expected.

 

Ichigo kicks the fucker until he's crying, until he stops beating at Ichigo's legs and instead cradles himself, doing his best to protect his hand and ribs and face.

 

Then he stops, bending until he's almost face to face with bloodied, tear-stained face of his betrayer.

 

"I can tell a traitor from a mile away," he remarks. "And you reek like dog shit, Ginjo. You're afterbirth, unwanted, a cum stain on this planet, just like every weak-willed rat who's ever tried to steal power."

 

He straightens.

 

"I hate rats."

 

And with that, Ichigo pogoes off the cement to land squarely on Ginjo's face, relishing in the crunch of bones and cartilage.

 

Ichigo steps off almost delicately, wiping the smear of blood on his shoes off on Ginjo's shirt.

 

Ichigo's done this once before. He knows the damage. The jaw is likely broken. The frontal bone is probably crushed, digging into the brain along with shards of bone from the crevice of his nose. He may survive, yeah, but it's unlikely. If he manages to, though— Ichigo knows rats, and rats are survivors— he'll be useless, brain dead, feeding tube, shit sack, the whole deal.

 

Huffing loudly, he glances over to where Ishida lays, hopefully unconscious, at Tsukishima's feet. The man seems frozen, sword pointed to the ground as he stares.

 

Ichigo snorts. Pussies, the lot of them.

 

He turns back to Ginjo, rolls him over with a kick and digs into his jacket pocket, bringing out a cigarette and a lighter. He looks at Chado.

 

"Fuckin' rats, Chado."

 

He forces a cigarette between his lips, lights it, then coughs. His blood splatters across the stone.

 

Fuck. His lungs are fucked, he's dead, he's gonna fucking die.

 

"Kurosaki-san!"

 

Ichigo frowns, looking to the bushes. He sees the outline of his father, sees that damned hat and that fucking cane. He also sees Rukia, looking torn between fear for him and fear of him.

 

His face breaks into a smile. He's swaying, he knows it, but he takes a step forward anyway.

 

"Hey, getaboushi-san," he greets lazily. "Mind taking care of the rest of these guys for me? I'm having a little… I'm having a little bit of trouble right now."

 

His knees buckle, his body tilts sideways, and the last thing he sees is his father rushing forward as if to help.

 

He passes out.


	2. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, Deagle275 asked for 'Ichigo vs Hollow Zangetsu mind fight', and in my excitement to write a prompt, I wrote this. Possibly not what was expected, but you know what? I like Ichigo being an underhanded little shit.

Dreams are malleable, easily manipulated once one is aware of the fact that they're dreaming. Ichigo takes this fact and applies it to the sideways world he finds himself in after about ten minutes fighting with his hollow.

 

"What the hell?"

 

His doppleganger practically gives himself whiplash with how violently he jerks his head from side to side, taking in the chain link fences that climb so high he can't see the top and the cracked blacktop under his feet.

 

Ichigo cocks his head to one side.

 

"You're a part of me," he remarks. "Don't you recognize this place?"

 

The hollow slows, backing up a few steps as he looks again, brow furrowed in confusion and anger.

 

Ichigo waits patiently, lips curved into the slightest smile as he watches realization dawn across its face, mouth going slack as its eyes widen in shock.

 

"The dogs," it whispers.

 

Ichigo throws his arms open, smile widening into something cruel.

 

"And we have our winner!" He lets his hands drop, but he's still smiling, his teeth white and bright and sharp.

 

The hollow growls, shooting forward with his sword aimed straight for Ichigo's heart-

 

Ichigo dodges, moving like water out of the way of the offending blade.

 

"This is my mind," Ichigo remarks. "And in the end I know every gritty, grimy, cobwebby corner of it. You said it yourself, hollow. I'm the king, so that makes my mind my kingdom. How about you, hollow?"

 

The hollow lets out a shriek as its sword turns to ash in its grip, backing away until its back hits the chain fence and starts to bleed. He looks to see barbs expertly woven through the holes, making it impossible to to climb.

 

"Hirako says you're made up of dark things," Ichigo remarks, taking a meandering step forward. "You're made up of my hatred, my anger, my fear..." He takes another step. "I wonder... Can you feel fear? Do you know what that is?"

 

It does, that much is obvious enough. Ichigo has to congratulate himself after this- this particular memory, no matter how sickening it is to him, is certainly a powerful one. Powerful enough to defeat one jumped up little demon in Ichigo's head.

 

"You little shit!" Ichigo pauses, glancing behind him.

 

"Sounds like Morinaga-gumi's pissed," he notes. "What do you think he'll do, hollow? Think he'll set the dogs on us?"

 

The hollow's trembling. Ichigo wonders if it shares his memories, of the smell of dogs and blood and the glint of sharpened teeth as they tear into his thirteen year-old flesh...

 

"You owe me twice what you've brought me! Is this how you treat your gumi, after all I've done for you?"

 

The hollow whimpers, pressing more fervently into the fence despite barbs.

 

Ichigo clicks his tongue as the doggie door slides open.

 

"You ought to know better, hollow," he says, mock sorrowful. "You know the dogs go crazy at the smell of blood."

 

Ichigo can hear the growling, can feel the vibrations in the blacktop as the heavy paws of the guard dogs come racing past him, their target pressed against the fence.

 

His hollow screams.

 

Ichigo is patient, watching impassively as his hollow falls, hiding its face as best as it can with its hands until the fingers are bitten off and bleeding.

 

He waits until the dogs are called, until they lope back into their kennel and the door slides shut.

 

His hollow doesn't move, not even when Ichigo moves to crouch beside it.

 

It does flinch, though, when Ichigo runs a hand through its matted hair, a soothing touch that doesn't suit the situation.

 

"You'll do as I say," he murmurs gently. "You'll obey me. You'll never try for the crown again. Do you understand?"

 

The hollow doesn't answer and suddenly, Ichigo manages to find a tear in its scalp to dig his fingers into.

 

It lets out a little shriek of pain, one, three-fingered hand weakly wrapping around his wrist.

 

" _Do you understand?_ "

 

"Yes!" the hollow chokes out. "Aibou, please— stop!"

 

Ichigo lets go, wiping the blood on his fingers off on a mostly-intact piece of the hollow's shihakusho.

 

He rises.

 

"Good," he says, and the world transforms back into glass buildings and vertical clouds. "I'm outta here."

 

 

*.*

 

 

Ichigo wakes up with the whole of the Visored standing over him, faces twisted into masks of horror and confusion.

 

"Son of a bitch," he groans, sitting up. "How'd I do? I fucking ache."

 

"Ya… Well, ya…" Shinji's pale-faced, maybe even a little green. "Let Hachi have a look at ya first, would ya? Ya look like a chew toy."

 

Ichigo looks down and grimaces. It seems his body took some of the damage, though perhaps not as badly as his hollow. He still has his fingers, after

all.

 

"I— yeah, that'll probably be for the best," he admits. "Hachi-san?"

 

As the fat man bustles over to him, gently pushing him back down into the futon they'd laid out for him, Shinji slips out onto the roof, phone in hand.

 

"Hey listen, Kisuke… That kid? You should look into him… Yeah, it was weird. He just stopped, in the middle of a fight with Lisa. Just started bleedin' and mutterin' to himself… Yeah, yeah, obviously, but… He mentioned that Morinaga bastard. You know the one, with the fightin' dogs? Yeah… Fuckin' yakuza shit… You think this kid's involved?… Fuck, I don't know. But he said somethin'. I figure that might mean somethin'."

 

Shinji listens for a minute longer, making small noises of agreement or dissent before hanging up the phone and slipping back into the warehouse.

 

Kurosaki Ichigo is a fucking weird kid.

 

Shinji's gonna find out why.


	3. Man's Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Daemon's Eyes, who requested— well, I don't want to spoil it for the rest of you, now do I? But yeah, I agree. Swords /are/ a little outdated.

Ichigo is thirteen when he buys his first gun off a low-level yakuza with connections in Israel. It's a Desert Eagle, a mark XIX with a six inch barrel, the kind they'd give Israeli soldiers. Ichigo likes the weight of it, and learns to shoot in a warehouse not too far from the Visored home.

 

This starts Ichigo's first obsession. At thirteen years old, he isn't thinking about the colorful bras some girls have started to wear under their white uniform shirts or the secret websites his dad has bookmarked under boring names like 'Tax Stuff' and 'Medical Journals'. He's thinking about guns, and how he can get more of them.

 

Ichigo has six by the time his fourteenth birthday rolls around, eight months later. He has them stashed under the floorboards of his closet, along with hollow point bullets and a Kevlar vest. Ichigo's not an idiot. He knows if he has guns then the kids that don't like him can get them just as easy, and he doesn't fuck with luck like that.

 

Ichigo's never been a gambler.

 

He thinks his dad might know that he's hiding something, but his dad tends to keep his mouth shut when it comes to what Ichigo does on his off time. He keeps his mouth shut because Two years ago he was drunk and unemployed, and it was Ichigo that put food on the table.

 

(The teen likes to hold that over his head once in a while, just to remind his father exactly where he stands in the eyes of his fourteen year old son.)

 

Ichigo takes to carrying a Smith and Wesson Airweight with him at all times, tucking it into the secret compartment of his school bag or the inner jacket pocket of his favorite coat. It's easy not to get caught, because no one is looking for a gun, and anyway, he's not the type to brag. Letting the bullies know he's armed is the same as asking them to arm themselves, as far as he's concerned, and anyway, he's not a fucking moron.

 

At twelve years old, Ichigo was one of the most dangerous children in Karakura, even if most of classmates didn't know it. At fourteen years old, he's the most dangerous man.

 

His classmates are still in the dark.

 

 

*.*

 

When the news about Orihime's kidnapping hits, Ichigo is angry. Ichigo is furious. Ichigo is en-fucking-raged.

 

Not that anyone can really tell.

 

It's enough anger, though, that when Ichigo forces himself from his body, instead of taking the Airweight and tucking it into the fold of his obi, he pushes apart the floorboards and brings out the only gun he's never fired.

 

The Smith and Wesson 500. A Magnum.

 

It's a thing of beauty, too beautiful to be shoved into the waistband of his pants or into the bottom of his school bag. The barrel's eight and three-quarter inches, with an effective firing range of fifty meters with a five round cylinder that clicks smoothly into place after he loads it. When he tucks it into his obi, there's a noticeable bump, one he knows Urahara will see when Ichigo returns to the shop.

 

He doesn't care. He focuses on strapping on his pouch of bullets— the special bullets, the one he knows work against spirits because he's the one that tested them— and stretches his neck until his spine cracks.

 

Oh yeah. Ichigo is pissed.

 

 

*.*

 

 

Nnoitra is a spindly motherfucker, tall and thin and apparently part spider or some shit, because as far as Ichigo can tell all his Resurreccion's done for him is give him extra arms and an ego boost that manages to knock Ichigo on his ass.

 

Ichigo, who has been nursing a heady cup of I'm-going-to-fuck-you-up-the-ass-with-your-own-zanpakuto rage, snaps the moment Zaraki thinks he's going to get involved, and Zaraki's kick in the ass serves as fan to the flames dancing through Ichigo's blood.

 

Zaraki's jaw cracks sickeningly with the impact of of the Magnum.

 

"Stay the fuck outta my fight," he growls, but Zaraki's out cold.

 

Yachiru peers down at him from a nearby fight.

 

"Ichi?" she asks, cocking her head to one side. "Are you gonna get serious now?"

 

Ichigo looks at her, mouth twisted into a deep frown and brow furrowed.

 

Then he turns to Nnoitra, stabbing Zangetsu into the sand as he raises the gun to shoulder height. The safety clicks off and Ichigo's finger flexes on the trigger, the recoil making him rock as the bullet flies straight and true, burying itself into the thin, knobby knees of Gilga Nnoitra.

 

It's obvious that the dark-haired Espada doesn't expect it to do anything. His eyes widen comically as the pain hits, wounded knee buckling and only causing more damage as he hits the sand.

 

"Wha— what!?"

 

Ichigo strides with purpose across the sand, busting out the other knee for good measure as he moves. He's aware of Yachiru's inquisitive eyes, aware of Nel's, too, and decides to make this short.

 

"Stop crying," he grunts, ignoring the delicate extra arms and how they crunch under his feet. "I'm not even making you suffer."

 

Which is sort of a lie, but it's not like getting shot hurts  _that_  much.

 

… Though he's never taken one to the knee, to be fair.

 

Tearing off the ridiculously high collar of Nnoitra's uniform, Ichigo plants a firm foot in between the Espada's shoulders.

 

Nnoitra doesn't fight him. The shock must be setting in, along with that one poison that Ichigo may or may not have liberated from Urahara's back rooms.

 

Glancing back at Yachiru, then at the stone he knows Nel is hiding behind, he thinks of Morinaga-gumi's pit bulls, the ones he put down after a particularly bad fight.

 

Ichigo's never killed a person. It's just… It's never come up.

 

Right now, though, he's fueled by rage, and worry, and he just hasn't got the time to be fucking this guy up so that he can't be followed.

 

The barrel kisses the back of Nnoitra's head. Ichigo fires twice, ignoring the way the blood splatters across his hand and face.

 

Tucking the gun back into his obi, he goes back to where he planted Zangetsu in the sand, sheathes him, and moves forward.

 

He's got bigger things to worry about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Title form Ice Cube's 'Man's Best Friend', which is a favorite of mine.
> 
> This took a little bit of a melancholy turn, but the idea of a little Ichigo killing people seems unlikely. I prefer shinigami business being the reason Ichigo's morals sour, as will be seen throughout this collection. As far as I can tell, this is the center of Ichigo's story— Before Ichigo killed, and after. Anything before this point, we can think of Ichigo as an innocent— a gun-packing, bitch-smacking, drug-dealing innocent. After this, we're just gonna assume Ichigo's a hard motherfucker who kills anybody who looks at him funny, because remember, folks, after all this, Ichigo's got no powers and no friends. My favorite!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I figure I should warn you guys that there's older people lusting after very much younger people in this one. There's also dog-fighting/animal abuse/the killing of dogs. Also tasers.

Orihime has problems. Of course she does— her parents were awful, awful people. And the her brother dying? Well, that's just icing on a shit cake.

 

She knows it isn't acceptable to convince older douchebags that she's just the sort of plaything they'd want to dote on, just the sort of thing they need to help relieve the dull monotony of street whores and yakuza groupies, the same way she knows she shouldn't smoke or stay out all night or get liquor in exchange for the man behind the counter copping a feel in the bathroom. She also doesn't care.

 

So yeah, she has problems, but it doesn't really matter all that much. She keeps her grades high enough that her aunt doesn't care what she does, and that works just fine for her.

 

Shoumaru is the newest in a series of boyfriends, and so far, probably the easiest to handle. He's twenty-four years old, nearly ten years her senior, and positively enchanted by her already sizable breasts. He also has money, which is helpful.

 

She hasn't fucked him yet, she hasn't fucked anyone. She's thinking about it, though. He's not so squeamish as the last few, more than willing to stick his dick in someone so small and fragile-seeming as her. He's got a thing for dolls like her— she uses that to her advantage. He's also a morally twisted, would-be evil man. She uses that to her advantage, too.

 

All of these things are why he's taken her out to the fights tonight.

 

"Oh, you'll love it, Hime-chan," he tells her, hand slithering down to lead her by the ass into the crowd surrounding one of the low, cement pits. "It's the most exciting thing to be seen in Karakura."

 

She smiles prettily up at him, eyelashes thick with mascara.

 

"I'm sure it is, Shou-dana," she murmurs demurely, barely loud enough to be heard over the whoops and shouts of the gamblers surrounding them. "Shou-dana always knows the best things to see."

 

Just like she expects, he puffs up his chest at the title, grin wide and shark-like as he squeezes her ass.

 

"Oh, Hime-chan, you're just the perfect woman," he coos, and just like he expects, she flushes and lets her lips quirk with what might be considered pleasure.

 

God, he's an idiot.

 

He pushes them right up to the front, until she's practically pressed up against the railings that keep her from toppling into the pit. She can feel his crotch pressing against the small of her back. Orihime does her best not to roll her eyes— she knows she's gonna feel him chub up eventually, the dog. It's a good thing she has plans for him.

 

Otherwise, she'd cut it off and put it in a jar.

 

She practically shivers in pleasure at the thought, and oh— there he goes. For shit's sake, these men are always such dogs.

 

They're settled right over the hatch where the dogs are released. Orihime notices that there's only one hatch in the floor, and opens her mouth to ask about it when the crowd parts.

 

A familiar boy with greasy orange hair and a timid, frightened face steps forward, hopping over the railing and nearly falling onto his face, causing the crowd to laugh harshly.

 

Shoumaru's hot breath ghosts her ear.

 

"You're lucky I got tickets to this one. This kid's the protege of Morinaga-gumi himself— a sick-minded little fuck, if the rumors are true."

 

"He doesn't look like much," Orihime says, eyeing the boy she knows from  _somewhere_ curiously.

 

Shoumaru laughs.

 

"Yeah, doesn't he?" he asks. "This is his first time in the ring. Morinaga-gumi's pitting his dogs against him."

 

Orihime's eyes widen. Morinaga-gumi's known for his dogs, known for the fights they win and the bodies they're fed. The rumors say he sharpens their teeth and reinforces their claws with iron implants.

 

She almost feels bad for that boy.

 

Small, thin, waifish, his long-sleeved t-shirt is too big to make him look anything besides scrawny. His jeans, on the other hand, are tight, accentuating pre-pubescent chicken legs and a flat ass. Orihime feels her face screw up unattractively as she tries to figure out what, exactly, makes anybody think this kid's going to survive this.

 

The bell sounds, the hatch falls open, and suddenly, something in the boy's demeanor changes. His shoulders straighten, his stance changes, and his eyes narrow as three of the biggest beasts Orihime has ever seen charge, teeth bared and tongues lolling.

 

She leans forward just as the biggest dog closes its jaws around the meatiest part of his forearm.

 

The sound he makes is positively monstrous, loud and primal and furious and maybe more than a little frightened. The dog shakes its head madly, trying to tear out a chunk of flesh.

 

She expects to see blood, meat, and maybe bone. What she doesn't expect is for the boy to dig his fingers into its eyes, popping them smoothly out of its eye sockets.

 

The dog lets out a whimper, pulling off and retreating in an attempt to adjust to its newfound blindness.

 

The gasp she lets out is one of pure delight as he crouches, landing a sharp elbow in the side of one of the other dogs. She hears the crack of ribs, punctuated by Shoumaru grinding against her as she leans.

 

"'Could take you here right now," he grunts. She lets out a hum of agreement, eyes darting across the second dog as the boy beats it back. She hears the snaps as he breaks its bone with well-aimed kicks of his steel-toed boots— the only weapon in his arsenal besides his own, brute strength.

 

Oh, God, that boy is positively  _gorgeous_.

 

The last dog is evidently more careful than its packmates, hanging back while the first to are dealt with. It takes its chance when the boy's focused on his second attacker.

 

The orangette moves so swiftly Orihime isn't sure what it is, exactly, she's seeing until his hand are clenched around the nose and jaw of the pitbull, pulling with more strength than should be possible. The dog is writhing, whimpering, crying, but the boy doesn't stop, not until there's the heavenly sound of the jaw being forced out of place.

 

The dog shrieks, and he drops it.

 

Then he pulls up his shirt, revealing the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants.

 

The gun is pretty fucking big, considering Orihime doesn't know too much about guns. She watches, eyes lidded and mouth open as he brings the gun to the nearest dog's head— the blind one, that's still whimpering as it runs into the cement walls of the pit.

 

The gunshot leaves her ears ringing. The next two practically deafen her.

 

As the last dog falls, the boy straightens. He looks up, his eyes meet hers, and they're the strangest mixture of pride and self-loathing. The feral nature of the deed lingers on his face, and a moan comes unbidden to her lips.

 

"Yeah, Hime-chan, you're so hot. All woman!"

 

Oh, she thinks as the boy tears his eyes away. That's what she gets for dating men like this. They always ruin the moment.

 

She closes her mouth as the chant goes up. It takes her a moment to understand what they're saying.

 

 _Demon_.

 

Understanding hits her like a drunken fist. _That's_ the Demon of Karakura? The boy who's bested every boxer in the city, who crippled the last man foolish enough to let her approach them? Fuck, she's never had an orgasm before, but she's pretty sure she's damned close to one.

 

The Demon climbs out of the pit with the ease of a spider, disappearing into the crowd to collect his dues. Orihime lets Shoumaru lead her away once she's lost sight of that bright hair, out into the dark, grimy street.

 

Daintily, she plucks a pink cigarette from the pack in her purse and sets it between her lips. She lights it with her pink zippo lighter— a gift from one of her suitors.

 

"So," she asks after a moment, once he's lit his own. "What was that boy's name? I didn't quite catch it."

 

Shoumaru breathes in deep.

 

"Kuro-something Ichigo. He's been around for a couple of years." He pauses at the look on her face. "What?"

 

Orihime flinches, mask sliding back on.

 

"Nothing. I just thought he looked familiar, is all." She smiles up at him. "He's the Demon of Karakura?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh." She pauses, leaning into his side as her free hand digs into her purse. "Oh, Shou-dana, I'm so happy you brought me here. It was so exciting!"

 

Shoumaru smirks.

 

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," he says, hand creeping up her skirt. "You seemed real excited."

 

"Yeah. It made me rethink everything I wanted to do with my life." Orihime doesn't bother to look to know the confusion crossing Shoumaru's face before she she slams her taser into the soft meat of his side.

 

The cigarette hits the cement, and a half of a second later, so does he.

 

"I don't like you anymore," she informs as he collapses, paralyzed. "You're no fun. Not like Ichigo." she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. "I think we should break up."

 

And with that, she tucks the taser back into her purse, hikes up her skirt, and strides away, heels clicking on pavement as she flicks her cigarette out onto the street.

 

Twenty minutes ago, she was ready to fuck this loser and get nothing but the status of money and a loss of virginity. But after that fight, after seeing the Demon himself in action… She's happy she's saved herself for this long.

 

As Orihime disappears into the dark streets of Karakura, she realizes one thing:

 

She's in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little bit of underage in this one. Does no one else find it strange that Orihime is perfectly well adjusted (or, at least, delusionally happy) despite having (implied) abusive parents, the random death of her brother, and an aunt who only takes care of her so long as she has insanely good grades hanging over her head? I only have one of those things, and I'm fucked up enough for therapy and an attempted suicide.
> 
> I thought it would be fun to tackle Orihime's infatuation from a different angle. Hybristophilia (also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome), is basically a thing where a person (usually a woman) finds themselves sexually attracted to a person who is (usually) violent, or at least morally reprehensible. Depending on the person, the sort of stuff that might make a person attractive could be things like infidelity or stealing, or be something super horrible like rape or murder. I think Orihime's on the more hardcore side of the spectrum.


End file.
